My Husband's in Love with a Man

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Everywhere my husband goes, women flirt with him. They give him the once over at the gas station aisle. "Nice pumping" their drawn out smiles seem to say. "Way to insert that nozzle."

Bank tellers, irritated with their long line of customers, transform into giggling school girls when Rex appears at their window. "Here to make a deposit?" they gleefully inquire.

There's even a cashier at the local El Pollo Loco that once whispered to her friend at the register, "Si solo pude obtener mis manos sober el." "If only I could get my hands on him..."

I'm not saying my husband is a Greek god. He slips on his South Park "I Killed Kenny" t-shirt just like the rest of the cartoon Apollos out there. It's just if a 6'3", five o'clock shadowed, chiseled bone structure is your idea of a fun roll in the hay, Rex just might fit your bill of a handsome stranger (while handsomely fitting into his 501's, too, if I do say so myself).

This sort of attention might bother some women, but not me. I know Rex will never cheat on me. The fact is, he can't multi-task.

He's quiet. Solitary. Nothing makes this guy happier than a Saturday of mowing the lawn or fixing a busted sprinkler head. Strip bars with the guys? Not so much. But crawling through the floor space setting ant traps precisely three inches apart? Oh, yeah, baby.

I'd love to say it's his dedication to family that keeps him so near to us. And he does adore us. But truth be told, he doesn't put up a homebody routine just for us. He's simply not spontaneous.

This inflexibility doesn't bother me. Not anymore, anyway. I have really embraced the adage, "Love what you have, not what you don't." What Rex brings to the family table far outweighs his rigidity on social functions. He is the string on my very wild, out-in-space, will-I-ever-come-down balloon.

He just doesn't operate last-minute, except with his friend, Von. And that's when my jealous nature flares up.

Forget the big-breasted L.A. dolls ogling over him at Starbucks. It's a 5'8" balding computer tech that really has my goat. No matter how much I wish it weren't the case, Von owns a part of Rex I never will. The part that can ramble on forever about the latest floppy drives. The pros and cons of the iPod phone vs. the Blackberry. And is the upgrade to his favorite game, Civilization IV, really worth the download? If the possibility is even a remote "maybe," Rex needs very little pushing to do a last-minute run to his favorite electronic store to find out the answer.

Once, in a vain attempt to compete with the object of his affection, I tried to learn Civilization IV. Night after night, I'd sit through the online tutorial. A computerized captain threw out directions on how to navigate the game in the right-hand corner of the screen while I attempted to stay awake. Hard as I tried to absorb this strategy game, I never could understand why I would want to take over the world. All I really wanted to do was redecorate the town village and give my soldiers better haircuts. I ultimately admitted defeat. Von, not Rex, would be his partner in tech.

I suppose I should be happy that Rex isn't at some dive saloon getting drunk. The most he'll do is stay out until 2am, every other month, getting high on Coca-Cola and playing video games with his best friend. Others in his motley computer crew include a CPA, a law student and a 50-year-old preacher. Not exactly the cheating crowd.

While I can't share his passion for computers, I make a point of asking about his latest techno obsessions. Do I love it? No. But he doesn't exactly care about whether I found the perfect rolling cart on sale at Target either. What we love is each other. And putting the sparkle in each other's eyes makes it worth it.

Maybe tonight, for kicks and giggles, I'll put on the background music to his newly upgraded Civilization IV game (Yes, he bought it. And word on the street is it wasn't worth the money). Perhaps I'll dress as one of the servant girls from the village screen whose sole job it is to gather logs. I can smile and wink, asking coyly, "Fearless warrior, does your wood need tending?" Hey, that's something even Von can't compete with.